Volume One: Menial Servant of Changshui County Chapter 80: The Three-Way Conference

What kind of nonsense is this? Zhao Chan’er was furious!

Her mother had actually cursed Brother Lu to die—how could she go so far?

“Chan’er, don’t blame your mother for saying such things. It’s all for your own good,” Aunt Zhao tried to persuade her earnestly.

“But even so, you can’t curse Brother Lu!” Zhao Chan’er retorted angrily.

“Oh, I was only joking!” Aunt Zhao laughed awkwardly. “If you don’t want to hear it, just pretend I never said anything.”

...

Demon-Slaying Bureau.

Lu Jiuzhang arrived, leading a big black dog, drawing quite a bit of attention. Once people realized it was Lu Jiuzhang’s pet, they restrained themselves, though whispers spread in the background.

“To be honest, I used to have a dog too, but it started biting people, so I killed it and ate it.”

“Same here! Dog meat has that unforgettable fragrance.”

“I’ve never tried dog meat myself. Brothers, if you get the chance, let me have a taste, will you?”

...

A few men stared at the black dog, chatting quietly.

“Demon-Slaying Guard Lu, is this your dog?” Suddenly, a voice came from the side.

It was Yuan Wufeng, who approached and, seeing the big black dog at Lu Jiuzhang’s side, couldn’t help but smack his lips. “Dog meat—its flavor truly lingers on the palate.”

“Woof...” The black dog, hearing this, was furious, barking twice at Yuan Wufeng. But considering Yuan Wufeng’s eighth-grade martial cultivation, the dog kept its wits about it.

“Director Yuan, this black dog is sick. If you get sick after eating it, that’s not on me,” Lu Jiuzhang said with a grin.

“Bah! Bad luck!” Yuan Wufeng swept his sleeve and turned away.

Once Yuan Wufeng left, the black dog complained, “Lu Jiuzhang, you’re the sick one! I’m a divine beast—I can get wounded, but I don’t catch those mortal diseases!”

“I just wanted to keep you from being eaten. That guy’s an eighth-grade martial artist,” Lu Jiuzhang chuckled mischievously.

Yuan Wufeng was a true eighth-grade martial artist—Lu Jiuzhang was no match for him.

After this, Lu Jiuzhang looked toward Yuan Wufeng’s departing figure and deliberately called out, “This dog caught its illness while chasing after a female last time. Best not to eat it—safety first.”

He said this for Yuan Wufeng’s benefit.

Yuan Wufeng, hearing this, strode away with a darkened expression, cursing his luck under his breath.

...

“Lu Jiuzhang, I won’t let you off!” The black dog was indignant. “Today, it’s either you or me! Slandering me out of nowhere—if anyone has a disease, it’s you! I’ll fight you to the death!”

“Oh? How do you want to fight?” Lu Jiuzhang drew his sword and set it against the black dog’s neck. “This is a special blade from the Demon-Slaying Bureau, imbued with Confucian spirit. It might not pierce your hide, but perhaps it just might. Want to try? Or shall we just eat dog meat tonight?”

“No, no, no!” The black dog panicked. “Lu Jiuzhang, Master Jiu, please, I was wrong! Can’t you let bygones be bygones? I admit, I spoke too loudly just now—let me apologize, all right?”

“I only just transformed—it’s only been a few months. I’m still just a pup, with plenty of room to grow!”

The black dog was flustered.

The blade probably couldn’t cut through its defenses, but it would still hurt!

Lu Jiuzhang wasn’t barehanded—he had a blade! If the blade broke, it could be replaced, but the dog couldn’t just swap bodies if it got hurt.

While the two were fooling around, a drum sounded—dong, dong, dong...

Everyone gathered in the main hall.

On stage, Zhong Zhengming wore a simple white robe, without a single ornament—even the Demon-Slaying Bureau’s insignia was absent.

As the Bureau’s Chief, he could dress however he pleased. No one else had that privilege.

“Move out!” Chief Zhong called, and the group filed out of the Bureau.

Lu Jiuzhang glanced around, but neither Chen Xuanfeng nor Zhou Cheng was anywhere to be seen.

Where were the two of them?

A vague unease crept over Lu Jiuzhang’s heart.

This time, Zhong Zhengming was leading the team himself, with Yuan Wufeng coming along, and Director Xue (rumored to be Zhong’s attendant) was here as well.

Of the Bureau’s upper ranks, only Chen Xuanfeng was missing. Was he left behind to watch over things? Was Zhou Cheng, too?

A sense of foreboding welled up in Lu Jiuzhang’s chest—this demon-slaying mission might be extremely dangerous.

...

After leaving Changshui County, they headed southwest.

Nanwu County lay several hundred kilometers to the southwest of Changshui, closer to Anxi Prefecture. Its economy, culture, and strength far surpassed that of Changshui.

Anyone who had been to Nanwu County knew its population was nearly double that of Changshui.

The first day was a forced march. Not until dusk did they make camp at the edge of a village.

On the second day, their pace slowed. Perhaps they wanted to show good spirit and discipline before the Nanwu Bureau, rather than appear ragged and beaten like a routed army.

As they neared the county border, Chief Zhong ordered everyone to straighten their clothes and brush off the dust.

Yuan Wufeng pulled a small comb from his breast pocket, tidied his hair, checked his reflection in the river, and, satisfied with what he saw, smiled approvingly.

Then, Zhong Zhengming led the main force onward.

After another dozen kilometers, they finally reached the border.

Across from them was a dense crowd, numbering at least several hundred.

Combined, the two groups made up six or seven hundred people.

But among them, most were menial staff from the Demon-Slaying Bureau, with no martial cultivation.

Those who had reached ninth-grade martial arts numbered only about thirty or forty.

Eighth-grade martial artists were even fewer—less than ten in all.

“Chief Zhong!” From the crowd opposite, a middle-aged man approached.

He was imposing, with a fierce air about him—obviously not someone to trifle with.

“Demon-Slaying Envoy Li!” Zhong Zhengming greeted him. “You’re the only one from Anxi Prefecture?”

Judging by his words, this man had come from the Anxi Prefecture Bureau, likely an envoy of eighth-grade martial strength—Zhong’s equal.

“It’s not such a big affair. They sent me to coordinate between Changshui and Nanwu, to keep things peaceful between your people. I still remember last year’s incident vividly,” the envoy said with a hearty laugh. “We’re all Demon-Slaying Bureau men—harmony is paramount.”

He continued, “Director Song, come out and meet with us. Let’s shake hands and leave the past behind—a mere misunderstanding.”

From the opposite crowd, another middle-aged man stepped forward. He, too, was tall and burly, a huge scar marring his face, lending him a menacing appearance.

But his expression was sour, and upon seeing Zhong Zhengming, his face darkened further, with no desire for conversation.